All those times you visited me I felt ecstatic.

I gave you what I could – I gave you my time and my space. I wanted to. I wanted to please you so much. I let you be you. Because you told me time and time again how much you valued your freedom. That is your all. You will not be hugged (not for long, anyway), you will not hold hands (I kept joking about it with you, but in reality I was longing for it so much). You will never answer to any woman (you told me last time you were here).

The visits were very much awaited, but they also caused me a big deal of stress – I had to make sure that once or twice a year those 2 or 3 days you were here would be perfect. In all ways possible. You know how much pressure that was for me? Sure, I got to see you, to be close, to touch you, to laugh with you! But all that time you were not here I was thinking how much easier it would be to meet more frequently, to cancel and reschedule if needed.

What if I was in a bad mood? What if I got sick? What if my daughter got sick? What if I felt sad, frustrated or simply extremely busy? None of those things were allowed. I had to be in the top shape and top mood. Because the days and nights with you were so precious, yet so rare.

And I did all that I could for you to be you. To do your things, the way you wanted them to. As much as I value my peaceful sleep, I hardly got any of it when you were here. You did use your headphones, but not all the time. You listened to whatever you wanted whenever you wanted as loud as you wanted. And I accepted it. I had to cover my daughter’s ears so she could fall asleep.

You are a social butterfly. It’s funny how I realised that when I picked you up from the airport and you started talking with the guy you met on the plane. He got your full attention during the whole bus ride home. Him. Not me. I was sitting next to you, just had seen you, hugged you, welcomed you, and it seemed to me that you were not there for me. I kept quiet. You were going to my home, after all. But at home you were mostly on the phone with… others. Just like you were back in your apartment. Friends, family, who knows. And they would always come before me, even though I was sitting in front of you.

You didn’t talk. I tried. It didn’t go well. You don’t talk about important things. Why? You promised me years ago that you’d always be straight with me. You were not here, you said, to tell me whatever I wanted to hear. Never. But now we don’t talk. And so I don’t know. Many things that I’d like to know.

A week ago you called again. My daughter and I are always happy when you call. We fight with each other to see who will get to talk to you first, who will talk longer, who will be closer to the phone screen. And you keep saying that you’ll do anything for my daughter. How sweet of you. She adores you the same way I do. She really truly does. You say her love is unconditional. While mine is conditional.

You are right. I don’t want to be one of many. Am I? Not knowing is destroying me. I wish I could get a straight answer from you. Friends? Fine. You are an amazing friend. More than that? Fine. Let’s see how this works out. But when I am neither one nor the other because you don’t tell me, I am not OK.

I can’t. I don’t want to. You value your freedom. I value my sanity. I remember how the girl you were going out with once called you emotionally unavailable. She was right, you know. And it’s OK. I respect you for who you are, but I can’t respect you for not talking to me.

So when you told me about a week ago that maybe it was time for you to visit us again, I got ecstatic. But, honestly, on a slightly lower scale this time. You checked the ticket prices and they were good. You had the dates set, and they worked for me too. I wanted you here but I did not want the noise, the long phone calls, the things you do alone. Because when you are with me, I want us to do things together. 2 or 3 days a year is not that much to ask.

You were thinking of coming with the small bag only. We decided you did not even need to bring your toothbrush – I’d get you one. ‘Maybe it’s time I always have one there, even though I’d use it once or twice a year’, – you said. This is what I wanted to hear. Not what I wanted my daughter to hear. Because knowing you, it was only words, nothing more.

You needed to check some things at your end. Sure, I understood. But secretly I was so looking forward to seeing you again. It’s been 6 months or so. I imagined, with the smile, how I’d meet you at the airport again. But the smile faded as I tried to image you, once again, in my apartment. Being you and doing your things. I know you’d say that flying over meant something. You come here to see me. But do you really see me when you are here?

As days passed by I kept coming back to the same thing in my mind – I matter. I need to take care of myself and my daughter. I choose my sanity, my health. How to say this to you? I ran different scenarios in my head: leaving you a short message, trying to explain to you in detail what I meant, not saying anything at all.

But I needed to, this time. And while my little girl played outside, I sent you one sentence only: ‘… as long as I’m not one of many’. I knew you’d understand what I meant. And you did, and you told me I’d ruined everything.

It did hurt, knowing you were still unwilling to tell me one way or another. Or was this your way of telling me? I was afraid that saying out loud what I really want to say would push you away. You would not come.

Just then my daughter fell on her back and hit it hard. You were not on my mind at that moment. She was. I was scared and worried and we rushed to the emergency room. She turned out to be ok, gratefully, and I realised how petty it all was. I will say what I want, I do, and I’m glad that I did it then, even if it stopped you from coming here.

Love has so many definitions. Who knows which one is true. But relationship is a union. And your wishes are not more important than my wishes.

Do I sound spiteful, angry, sad? I may as well do. But what matters to me is that I stood up for myself. I didn’t use as many words as I wanted to and was not as direct as I could have been. But I said what I wanted and needed to say.

And just as I’m writing this, I looked through my window and saw a man with the gym bag walking down the street. He looked just like you. And I… I jumped from my desk and ran to the balcony. I watched the man walk. You knew where I lived. You said that you could find your way to my place. Was that really you? My heart was beating faster as I was looking down. But the man never looked up and never turned towards the entrance to the building.

How silly of me.

It just shows – I can’t get you out of my system. I feel just like her. The girl from the book.

And you, just like the guy from the book, have a permanent place in my heart.